Adam led us down the stairs. In the dining room, there were two guards. Each was cradling a gun in their arms and looked out of place against the faded rose wallpaper of the hotel. They stepped toward us when we appeared.
“Back off. I got this,” Adam snapped, tugging me toward the door.
This was it. There was no going back. I would see Cash one more time, hug my brother goodbye, and let Frankie do his worst.
A cold wind wrapped around my legs as Adam pulled the door and pulled me outside. Townspeople lingered around. No trash littered the streets. No dead cars were parked at odd angles where they had died like in other towns. Hilltop was a utopia. Solar panels lay here and there, gathering power for the inhabitants. Near the corner of each building was a water barrel to collect rainwater from rooftops. Structures lay untouched, surviving the worst time in American history. But underneath the perfection was an unsettling feeling that something wasn’t right.
Across the street, a group of men stood in the town square talking. The old street lamp above them was broken but there was still enough light to see. One of the men looked at me then nudged the guy next to him. One by one, they all turned to look at us as Adam led me across the street.
My hair whipped into my face and my dress flattened against my legs as the cold wind hit me. Adam tightened his hold on my arm and led me in the direction of the men. My heart rate increased. These people hated me. What was stopping one of them from putting a knife in my stomach? Killing me to avenge the men who had been shot that day on the street?
One of them spit on the ground and glared at me as we approached. Another man pushed his jacket back, exposing the gun attached to his side. They all looked at me with hate.
I looked away, almost tripping in my nervousness. All I had to do was stay alive long enough to turn myself over to Frankie then they could have a go at me. It didn’t matter what they did as long as Cash, Tate, and David could get away.
I glanced over my shoulder at Tate, making sure he was staying close. He was and so was David but the two guards from the hotel were also following us. Tate looked edgy, glaring at the people on the street. I started to tell him to calm down but suddenly one of the men broke from the group and hurried toward us.
Adam leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Do what I say.” I drew a sharp breath when the end of his gun poked into my rib.
“Hey,” the man said, swaggering toward us with a cocky grin.
“Back off, Brewer,” Adam said, pulling me around a small grassy area sectioned off from the rest of the town square by chicken wire. Dead stalks of corn and other brown, leafy plants sat wilted in the enclosure.
The man started walking beside us. “You taking them to the hanging tree too?”
I gaped at him. Hanging tree? What was he talking about?
The man grinned at me like I was about to be put on a skewer and served as dinner. Half his teeth were gone and deep pockets of pimples crisscrossed his face.
Adam ignored the man and pulled me across the town square. I stumbled and almost fell when I saw where he was taking me.
The courthouse.
“Cash is in here?”
It was a turn of the century building, made up of red bricks and green trim. A tattered American flag hung on a flagpole in front. It was a symbol of what our country was now – faded, worn, damaged and torn – but like its people, it was still hanging on and flying.
“Yeah,” Adam answered. “Ironic isn’t it?”
I had no idea what he was talking about but I didn’t bother asking. I kept my eyes on the double doors as he led me up the stone steps. Above us, the flag whipped in the wind. Below us, our shoes made shuffling sounds on the steps. Tate was breathing heavily behind me. David coughed. The men in the town square talked in loud voices. I heard it all but my attention was focused on what lay in front of me.
The way that led to Cash.
Adam nudged me inside with the gun in my back. I faltered when I saw the men inside. There had to be twenty of them. They were lounging in recliners and playing cards on broken-down tables. Some were smoking handmade cigarettes and others were passing around bottles of liquor. They stopped what they were doing to look up as we walked in.
I realized it was the militia’s headquarters. The heart of the organization. The smell of men and sweat was overwhelming. The scent of alcohol and piss worse. I swallowed against the need to vomit and moved carefully between men as Adam pushed me on. They stared at me with hostility, refusing to move.
A big man stepped in my path halfway across the room. His leather jacket was tight and his goatee was greasy. I stepped back into Adam as he stared down at me with cruelty.
“Royce,” Adam said in greeting, pulling me to the side to go around the guy.
The old man stepped in front of us and crossed his massive arms over his chest. With a dark look, he stared down his nose at Adam.
“Pussy isn’t allowed in here, killjoy.”
A shiver went up my spine from the man’s voice alone.
Adam cocked his head to the side in that annoying little way he had. “You’re here, aren’t you, Royce?”
The man growled. I swear he was part animal.
“I don’t like you much, killjoy. Take your pussy and that traitor – David – and leave.”
Adam’s fingers tightened on my arm until I thought it would break.
“Get out of my way,” he said between clenched teeth.
Royce considered it but still didn’t budge.
Adam sighed and shook his head. Just when I thought he would give up, he swung the gun away from my spine and pointed at the man’s forehead.
“Move.”
I held my breath. Every man climbed to their feet and pulled out their guns. Royce didn’t flinch, even with the gun in his face.
“Frankie know you brought them here?”
Adam scoffed. “Who do you think told me to? I’m sure not doing this for fun and I know this is a no pussy zone. This woman is a pain in my ass and so are these two.” Adam jerked a thumb back at Tate and David. “But orders are orders and I follow them. Now move or Frankie can have your head instead of my balls.”
Royce hesitated but then moved out of the way. Adam stuck the gun back in my spine and nudged me to go.
I moved past Royce, silently thanking Adam for not getting us killed. Tate and David stayed close behind us, watching the men for any sudden moves. They were white as a sheet. I couldn’t blame them. I was shaking in my little flats.
Adam steered me toward a dark staircase near the back of the room. As we drew closer to it, I noticed the stairs only went down. To the basement, maybe? Is that where Cash is being held?
The thought of spiders and darkness made goosebumps break out on my arms. But I was about to find out that there were worse things than eight-legged bugs and shadowy, damp corners.
Chapter Thirty–One
Cat
My fingers slid over the cold handrail as we walked down the marble staircase.
“He’s down here?” I whispered, trying to see into the darkness up ahead.
“Yes,” was Adam’s only answer but it was enough to send chills over me.
Cash was down in the ancient basement. Probably cold. Probably hungry. Probably fighting to get away. I could practically feel him nearby.
My heart beat faster as we went further down the stairs. Adam had let me go and removed the gun from my back. Free, I hurried as fast as I could, careful not to slip in the flats. They weren’t made for running or getting away from bad men with guns. I wanted my old boots back but they were long gone, probably burnt to a crisp in the cabin.
I pushed the depressing thought away and hunched my shoulders forward, wishing Mary had provided me with a jacket. The air was colder the closer we got to the bottom and had a kind of dampness to it that made the chill go right through my dress.
My nose twitched at the smell of the ancient building. I hated that smell. It reminded me of my grandmother’s home a
nd of her plastic flowers and old photos of the prestigious Phillips family. She called me a disgrace to the family but where was the family now? Dead? Homeless? Hungry? None of that money or the big houses mattered now.
Our footsteps were loud in the stairway. I concentrated on that instead of the past and my uncertain future.
The bottom of the stairwell appeared. I started to hurry, flying over the marble steps. Just as I stepped off the last step and saw the rows of metal shelves in the basement, Adam grabbed my arm and spun me around.
“Listen to me. There’s something you need to know first.”
I tried jerking my arm away. “Let me go! I want to see him!”
Adam let go of my arm and pushed me back against the wall with his arm across my chest.
“I don’t think so, sweet pea.”
I winced at the pain in my spine from the stair rail behind me, but pulled my lips back. “Don’t call me that!”
Adam glared down at me, his usual playfulness gone. “I have a gun and I put my neck on the line for you. I’ll call you anything I damn well please. Now, calm down and listen to me.”
“Let go of my sister.”
Tate appeared by Adam’s side, David behind him.
Adam froze. “Where did you get that?”
With my back pressed up to the rail and Adam’s arm across my chest, I couldn’t move but I glanced at Tate. He held a kitchen knife at Adam’s side.
“Ms. Mary thought I might be dealing with some tough meat soon and thought I would need it,” he said, looking at Adam through the hair hanging in his eyes.
The corner of Adam’s mouth lifted in a grin. “That was nice of her. I hope you said thank you.”
“I did,” Tate said, still keeping the knife against Adam. “Told her I couldn’t wait to use it either. Knew just the right person I would share it with.”
Adam grunted with amusement and eased his arm off me. He turned slowly to face my brother.
“You could hurt someone with that, kid. Put it away.”
Tate didn’t move. “I’m not a kid. I’ll put it away when I’m good and….argh!”
Adam’s arm swung out and struck Tate’s wrist. He grabbed the knife and had it up against Tate’s throat in seconds, fisting the handle and pushing my brother against the wall.
“Always go for the jugular. If you stab in the side, you might hit a rib. Your opponent will have a chance to kill you if you only wound him.”
He whipped the knife away from Tate’s throat and flipped it around, handing it back to my brother handle first.
“Other than that, you’re fast, kid.”
“Mmm…thanks,” Tate said, taking the knife like it might bite.
Adam turned his attention back to me. “You need to listen to me very carefully, Cat. Things have happened. I need to know just how strong you can be.”
I stuck my nose up and squared my shoulders. “I’m very strong. I survived a bullet, Paul, the EMP, this town, you. Why?”
“This might be worse than all those combined. I need to know that you can keep it together.”
I swallowed hard. “Why? What’s happened? Is Cash okay? Is he hurt?”
Pain twisted Adam’s face.
“They’re going to execute him tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirty–Two
Cat
My vision faded. My heart stopped. “Oh god,” I whispered, sucking in a breath of air. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Adam muttered, grabbing my elbow and keeping me on my feet.
The stairway was spinning. All I could hear was the roaring in my ears. I didn’t struggle when Adam hauled me away from the wall and started dragging me into the dark basement. My legs worked and my eyes were open but my mind was in a fog. I couldn’t hear anything but the same words again and again. They are going to execute him. They are going to execute him.
Cash was going to die because he had been trying to protect me.
The world spun. I stumbled. Adam yanked me up and kept walking. Tate and David were behind us, talking in low, angry voices. Adam led me down an aisle then another. A small, still coherent part of me realized that the basement was a maze of metal shelves. I started to notice details, my mind’s way of dealing with the pain.
A chill radiated from the concrete and swept under my dress.
Legal file boxes lined the shelves on either side of me. They were marked with dates. 1945. 1976. 1982. Evidence boxes? Closed cases? It didn’t matter.
They were going to kill Cash.
Adam pulled me around a corner past the metal shelves and dusty cardboard boxes. I almost missed a step when I saw the newly constructed room in front of me.
It stuck out like a sore thumb in the ancient government building. Unfinished dry wall separated it from the rest of the dank, dark basement. A heavy metal door faced us and in front of it stood the big, bald man who had kicked Cash again and again in front of the cabin.
“Reed,” Adam said in greeting, leading me straight to the man.
The man crossed his trunk-like arms over his massive chest and widened his stance. “What are you doing here, killjoy?”
Adam rolled his eyes and muttered, “I really hate that nickname.”
Reed looked down his wide nose at us as we approached. “It fits. You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing down here?”
Adam yanked me to a stop in front of the man, his fingers biting into my skin. “Frankie said you could take the night off and get ready for tomorrow. I’m here to relieve you.”
Reed glanced at me with disgust then at Tate and David behind me. “And why are they here? They need some roughing up too?”
Adam’s gaze turned hostile. “No. Frankie wanted a show. He should be here soon to enjoy it.”
The man grunted and studied me. I stood still, letting him. If it got me into the room and to Cash, he could stare all he wanted.
Finally, he stepped away from the door. “He won’t be a problem for you,” he said, nodding at the room behind him.
“That’s good to know,” Adam muttered, hauling me past the man roughly.
I didn’t have time to prepare myself for what was on the other side of the door. I thought I was strong but I was about to find out that I was very wrong.
~~~~
He was hanging by his hands. A rope was tied around a pipe exposed in the ceiling. His wrists were bloody and raw. His head was hanging down, his chin resting on his chest.
“Cash!” I screamed, pulling my arm from Adam and running into the room.
He grunted and opened his eyes as I wrapped my arms around his middle.
“Cat?” he whispered, staring down at me as if I wasn’t real. His right eye was full of blood, the vessels broken in it. The left eye was swollen shut and surrounded by ugly black and blue bruises.
“It’s me. It’s me,” I cried, trying to hold him up and take the weight off his tied wrists. Blood ran from them, soaking the sleeves of his shirt and coating the rope.
Tears fell down my cheeks unchecked. I heard Tate, Adam, and David rush into the room behind me.
“Cut him down! Cut him down!” I screamed, struggling to hold his solid weight up.
Adam whipped out his knife and slashed the rope above Cash’s wrists. Cash grunted again and started to crumble on me but Tate and Adam caught him and lowered him to the floor.
I knelt down beside him, afraid to touch him, afraid to see how badly he was hurt.
“Cash. Cash.” I took his face in my hands. He had been beaten. His face was black and blue. One cheekbone was puffy. His lips were cut. Dried blood was encrusted under his nose.
“Kid, right outside is a box labeled 1996,” Adam said to Tate, kneeling on the other side of Cash. “Find it and bring it in here.”
Tate jumped up and left at a run.
“What’ve you done, boy?” David asked Adam, lowering himself down to one knee by Cash’s head.
Adam shrugged. “A few of my men are still
on my side. They hid a backpack of supplies in the box for us.”
I didn’t care. I was too worried about Cash. He had lost consciousness when the rope was cut away. Who knew how long he had been tied up by his wrists, the blood cut off from his fingers.
“Let me look at him, honey,” David said, giving me a reassuring glance.
I let Cash go and backed away enough to give David room. He started poking and prodding Cash, checking for injuries, feeling for broken bones. When David touched his ribs, Cash hissed and opened his eyes.
“How you doing, boy?” David asked, leaving his ribs to examine the deep cuts left by the rope in his wrists.
“I’ve been better,” Cash muttered, barely moving his lips. They were cut and coated with dried blood.
David gave a weak smile and prodded Cash’s side again. “They broken?” he asked, referring to his ribs.
Cash groaned. “At least a few of them.”
Tate reappeared carrying a cardboard box. He set it on the floor inside the room and flung the lid off. Grabbing the backpack inside, he took it over to Adam. Adam ripped open the zipper and grabbed a water bottle from inside. Unscrewing the top, he put an arm under Cash’s shoulders and lifted him up high enough to drink.
Cash drank greedily as soon as the bottle touched his lips. Water ran down his chin and onto the floor under him. God, had they not let him have any water? He was dying of thirst.
When he coughed and water sprayed from his mouth, Adam took the bottle away and David went back to examining him.
“Best thing is to leave your ribs alone. What about the rest of you?” David asked, carefully poking Cash’s cheekbone. “Anything else broken?”
Cash winced and closed his eyes. “No.”
“Good. How about your insides? Any pain? Tenderness?” David poked around on Cash’s abdomen. Cash hissed when he hit a sore spot and stiffened.
I let out a little cry, thinking of terrible internal injuries he might have. Cash’s eyes flew open at the sound. Stone gray irises looked at me.
“What are you doing here?” he muttered between cracked, bloody lips.
I grabbed his hand and scooted closer. “Where else would I be?”